


Forever (You'll Stay in My Heart)

by spideysmjs



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, F/M, Michelle's P.O.V., Pining - One Sided, but not really, endless angst, right people wrong time, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: “We’re running out of time, Harry,” she states. “I’ve got four days to let Peter know he’s making the biggest mistake of his life. That’s 96 hours.”Harry doesn’t say anything, braking softly at the red light. He’s awfully calm.“Harry, he’s been in love with me for nine years.”My Best Friend's Wedding AU.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Harry Osborn, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker/Gwen Stacy
Comments: 43
Kudos: 63





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlystill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/gifts).



> Hi everyone. This is something very different. 
> 
> I'm doing a My Best Friend's Wedding AU, and I **will** be following the ending. (It's about the _pining_ ). I know this isn't typical and most people will probably...shy away from it. But I'd like to try different things once in a while, and if you're interested, then thank you. 
> 
> This is for [perfectlystill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill), whose mind has shifted to ponder endlessly about the _what could have been_ of a ship. ♥

Michelle unfolds the swan-shaped napkin placed neatly on the plate, tucking it onto her lap as she smiles across the table to meet eyes with Harry Osborn. 

Harry, suave and dashing, mimics Michelle’s movements as the waitress pours Dom Perignon ‘02 in the oversized wine glasses, shaking as she does so. 

It’s an important night for the restaurant: Michelle Jones is critiquing the quality of their food, their service, and their ambiance with her editor as her “date” of the evening. 

“The staff is a bit tense,” Harry snickers as the waitress walks away, doing a double-take.

“I have that effect on people,” she drums her fingers, nervous at the prospect of another restaurant sending her death threats after a mediocre review. 

“Yet, you drum your fingers so nervously on the table.” Somehow, Harry can always read her mood – they’ve been friends long enough, anyway. 

“It’s a nerve-wracking job when you know people will hate you after you do it.” 

“It’s a good thing you have no feelings.” 

Michelle rolls her eyes. “You know, I don’t have to take you along to these dinners.”

“Oh, but then you’ll look like a lonely old maid.” 

“Where would I be without you, Harry?” she remarks with a touch of sarcasm so precise it pierces through him, though he doesn’t hold back a witty quip. 

“Unemployed and alone.” 

“Hush.” 

“Speaking of establishments that hate you,” Harry leans forward, Michelle glaring at him, “did Le Bernardin ever call back to set up a second chance with you?” 

“I hardly ever give second chances,” she says at a moment so timely as the waitress approaches again with their first course of the night. Her eyes widen.

“I can tell by the way you handle the men I set you up with.” 

“You know a second chance wouldn’t be needed if you set me up with the right men,” she ruffles through her handbag, searching for her phone to figure out the answer to Harry’s original question. She doesn’t have time for second chances, she’s a busy woman and an esteemed critic would only appear so weak as to agree to eat at the same restaurant _twice._

_Voicemails:_

_Peter Parker (1)_

Michelle smiles, soft and endearing. Her heart glows so brightly, Harry’s nearly blinded by the shift in her emotions. 

“Men who make you smile like that?” he raises his perfectly trimmed brows as he rests his chin on his hands, elbows propped on the table. She hushes him, waving one hand to shoo him away and another to hold the speaker to her ears. 

“ _Hey ‘Chelle, it’s me. I can’t wait to talk to you. It’s been months, hasn’t it?”_

It’s been nine months, to be exact.

“ _–listen, I’m at the Waldorf, in Chicago. I know it’s…”_

Expensive.

_“–expensive. I can explain everything, if you’d just answer your calls… You’re probably busy, but call me. 4am, whenever. I need to talk to you.”_

Michelle taps out of the app, sighing with a gaze into the distance as she reminisces about her past. Harry snaps his fingers in front of her. 

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he points out, giddy and shaking for more news. “Who’s got your panties twisted? You have a Tinder date after this? A little quickie after dinner?” 

She snorts. “Not a quickie. That was my Peter – my best friend, Peter Parker.” 

“Scientist extraordinaire,” Harry claps his hands quickly. 

“He sounds desperate to talk.” 

“Did he want to reignite something between the two of you?” 

Michelle backs up, her fork almost falling off the table. “Excuse me?” 

“The look in your eyes,” he explains, though Michelle knows he doesn’t need to. Her ears are burning, face tinged with a slight pinkness surprisingly saturated underneath the dim yellow lighting. 

“Back in Cambridge. We met our first year, when I was at Harvard – he was at MIT.” Harry scoffs, never missing a moment to tease Michelle about being a pretentious Harvard graduate. “Sophomore year, there was this month where we…” 

“Messed around?” 

“Tried to date.” Harry’s eyes widen, seeing a side of Michelle that’s never been presented to him. “I got nervous.” 

He understands completely – the nervous part is the part of Michelle he knows by heart. 

“Vulnerability getting the best of you.”

“Always.” Michelle looks down at her half eaten prime rib. It’s getting colder by the second. “So I worked up the nerve to break his heart. And you know what he says to me?” 

“Fuck you, bitch?” Harry guesses. Michelle laughs, shaking her head.

“He told me, ‘ _I figured I wouldn’t be good enough for you_.’” 

“Ouch.” 

“‘ _But I don't want to lose my best friend_.’ _'_ ” she finishes the story. There’s a tremble in her voice so light, but of course, Harry can hear it. He can feel it as she grabs the napkin on her lap, patting her lips buttered from the steak. “I felt the same way. So we shared one last kiss and stayed best friends ever since.” 

Ever since.

“Shame. Sounds like you’re one in the same,” Harry shakes his head. 

“No, he’s nothing like me. Which is good,” she winks. “Can’t have two of me. He’s like you, though. Except he’s straight.” 

“So he’s charming, handsome, perfect?” he grins. She shakes her head once more, except her movements shift into a strong nod, thinking about the way Peter’s charmed her ever since the day they’d met.   
  
  


She had met a snobby, MIT guy at a party and found herself waking up in a haze of sticky sweat and a seemingly incurable hangover. His room smelled like cheap beer and expensive cologne which attacked her sinuses so strongly she had to run out immediately to avoid puking, one sock still in her hand as she opened the door to the hallway.

Michelle ran directly into Peter. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Busy night last night?” his response was cheeky, eyes running up and down Michelle’s body. 

“If you’re here to slut-shame–” 

“I’m not.” 

“Good,” Michelle crouched down, putting on her left sock and left boot. 

“I’m Peter.”

“I didn’t ask,” she pulls the falling strap of her short sleeve crop top back on top of her shoulders, switching her demeanor the moment she noticed his light brown eyes and the way the skin surrounding it crinkled when he laughed. “I’m MJ.”

“I’ll see you around?” 

“Only if you want me to,” she winked. 

They had exchanged numbers after that, and Michelle quickly learned that Peter was an outstanding boy – someone she wanted to keep in her books forever, someone she never wanted to lose. So she kept him close, close enough to deem Peter as her best friend, but nothing more. It was never because he wasn’t good enough – only that he was _too_ good.

And she couldn’t lose him. 

  
  
  


“He’s amazing, Harry. Genuine guy. _My best friend_ ,” she stresses again. “He’ll always be there for me.” 

She replays Peter’s voice in her head, the way he expressed how he missed her. Harry searches her face for answers she won’t give, although her face fell at the thought of how her interactions with her best friend are now few and far between – Peter and Michelle hadn’t been the same in a while.

He had his ongoing research thing with Stark Industries; she was an overly picky food critique.

It was life. C’est la vie. Que sera, sera. _Whatever_. 

“It’s not whatever,” Harry breaks her stream of thoughts. “Sounds like he’s still in love with you.” 

She squints, considers the prospect, and retreats. “Maybe, but it’s never gotten in the way.” 

“I’m bored,” Harry feigns a yawn.

“There’s nothing interesting to tell you,” she traces the rim of her wine glass before sipping. “We’ve been through it all together; suffered through loss, heartbreak… traveled everywhere, promised to be in each other’s lives forever…”

“I’m no longer bored. Continue,” Harry leans forward again. 

She remembers that night clearly, too. 

  
  
  


A drunken night, post-fall finals in his apartment from senior year. He spent the night showering Michelle in compliments, ranging from her beauty to her resilience and everything in between. 

“You’re my favorite girl, ‘Chelle,” he slurred through drunken whispers, raising a pinky. “Promise you won’t ever leave me.”

“I won’t, you dork,” she laughed, a secret happy thing reserved just for Peter. 

“We’re marrying each other by 28,” he said. “Okay?” 

“I’ll have to let my future husband know,” she said in secrecy. 

“No, no. I’m serious. If we’re single by the time we’re 28, we’re getting married,” he pouted. She couldn’t say no. 

“Fine,” she looped her pinky around his, a promise imprinted in the depths of their friendship. A promise they had never talked about since that night.

  
  
  


She’s laughing, snorting so loudly with her head thrown back that the table next to her gives a strong side-eye. The idea of the pact is ridiculous. 

“28?” Harry asks, not laughing with her. Strange. It’s a funny thing. “Isn’t your birthday next month?” 

Her eyes widen. “No.”

“Yeah, it is. November 21st, you sneaky Scorpio,” he teases. 

“Sagittarius-cusp,” she enlightens Harry. “But I mean, _no._ Peter’s not calling because of that.” 

“You’re the one that said he sounds desperate to talk.”

“No,” she repeats. No. He could never. Peter would never. “He can’t do that to me.” 

They’ll never be the same.

But they also haven’t been the same. For nine months.

“What if…” Harry starts. 

“I run away, cut off all connection, and turn into a hermit before calling him back?” her voice is muffled by the way she’d binged her entire meal. 

“That’s exactly what I was going to suggest.”

Dinner is spoiled. The restaurant can blame Peter Parker’s damn voicemail for the bad review she’ll write up. 

* * *

Michelle replays the voicemail for the fourth time, this time chugging her own cheap bottle of Stella Rosa to cleanse her palate from the overpriced Perignon, to cleanse her head from the anxious conversation she had with herself on the entire Uber ride home.

_“Call me. 4am, whenever. I need to talk to you.”_

“God,” she mumbles to herself, curled up on her queen-sized mattress in her bedroom overlooking the West Village. “ _God_.” 

She won’t call.

She has to call.

“Peter,” she practices out loud, her voice echoing in the emptiness of her studio apartment. “Guess what! I’ve decided to move to Europe. Find myself, whatever. You know.” 

She shakes her head. 

“Peter, I’m married.” He’d never believe that. 

She clicks her favorites list, her thumb hovering over Peter’s name, Michelle giggling at his ridiculous contact photo from years ago when they spent a weekend running away to Canada trying to see Niagara Falls from the other side of the river. His hair was drenched in misty waters, but she thought he looked just adorable.

Let it be voicemail. Please.

It isn’t. There’s a click. And silence. 

“Welcome to your obscene call of the month,” she starts before Peter can. “Your subscription will be charged on your bank account tomorrow at around 12 noon, New York time.” 

“‘Chelle,” he answers – she can practically hear the smile in his voice. He sounds far from tired, close to excited, and on the verge of making Michelle cry for the fourth time in her entire adult life. “I’ve missed your voice.” 

“I’ve missed yours, too,” she lets slip, palming her face in frustration. There’s really no time to be doing this right now, whatever _this_ is. 

“Well, you wouldn’t have to miss it if you would just call me once in a while!” 

“That’s not part of the subscription package you picked.” It’s awkward. She hates herself right about now, and if Peter hadn’t interrupted her, she would have kept going with the damn joke. 

“Look,” he starts, “I need to talk to you. It’s important. Like, super life-changing important. It’s huge.” 

Michelle swallows on her own saliva. It’s thick and gross and her stomach is doing flips like a drunk gymnast at the Olympics. “Hey, remember that one night after senior finals?” 

She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“Oh, God. Peach vodka night? We damn near finished a fifth of New Amsterdam by ourselves,” he gags over the line. “I almost blacked out.”

“Yeah!” she perks. “Yeah… Well, seeing as you nearly blacked out, you couldn’t possibly remember…” her thoughts drift away from her voice. Michelle shuts her eyes softly, losing the nerves to bring up _that promise_ and not really remembering why she had brought it up in the first place. 

“Seriously?” Peter snorts. “I think about that night all the time, MJ.” A beat, and now MJ’s pacing furiously back and forth without remembering at what point she’d stood up during their conversation. Her heart races uncontrollably. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”

Her heart slows down, shoulders deflating. She stops in her tracks. “Oh?”

“I met someone.” 

Oh.

“And I’m crazy about her, MJ.” 

Of course, he is.

“That’s great," she yelps, sitting back down as her legs shake against the floor of her apartment. “It’s been a few years, right? Since Felicia whatsherface or something…” 

“It’s unreal. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Chelle.” _Never_. Her heart aches. Her throat is dry. She could collapse to the floor at any minute. 

“And I don’t understand why. We’re so different.” 

“Are you now?” Michelle rubs her temples. Peter met someone. Peter is crazy about someone. It’s not Michelle. 

“She’s in grad school for science communication... And her family… God her family. Her father has tenure at the University of Chicago… Vice Chancellor. He’s well placed in a ridiculous institution – you know how I feel about education and how they get paid too much compared to the other, harder workers and stuff… But Mr. Stacy’s nice, I promise. They’re all nice.” 

“The Stacy’s?” she questions. “You’ve met the family.” 

“Well, yeah. That’s the thing.” She can practically envision Peter ruffling his own hair. Michelle wishes she can run her fingers through it to fix it for him. “We’re, uh… we’re getting married on Sunday.” 

This time she collapses on the floor, phone flying across the room. She crawls quickly to check the date. “Peter… Peter, it’s Wednesday.” 

Peter met someone. He’s crazy about her. And he’s getting married in four days. Four days. 

“I know, I know. It’s not like me at all. But it all starts tomorrow here. It’s a big, giant affair. Her family’s huge and I need to be acquainted with everyone, have lots of dinners.”

“Four-day _thing_? Don’t you have research to do with Stark Industries? That’s an awful lot of work you’ll be missing. You never miss work.” 

“You _know_ Tony was invited. He’s busy, though. He’s a lot more upset than he lets on about missing the big day.”

“Tony sure does love a big wedding,” she recalls being Peter’s plus one to the Stark and Potts wedding extravaganza shortly after Peter was promoted from intern to research assistant in the chemical engineering sector of SI. 

Their conversation falls apart, a loud silence casting over them with the static of their phone call reverberating through the speakers. She can feel his presence all the way from here, like he’s right in front of her, his eyes are sparkling into hers. 

Except Michelle’s looking only at her own reflection in the mirror of her vanity, phone placed carefully on the space of the counter on speaker. “MJ, I’m scared.” 

“Well, how are you feeling wi–” 

“I need you here. With me.” 

“Peter,” she whispers. 

“I could throw up. If you’re not here to hold my hand through this whole shebang, MJ, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he voice is high pitched, fast like it would be when she’d listen to him review over a lab practical all those years ago or when he started dating again after their stupid... _thing._ “Please?” 

She swallows. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Pete.” 

“That’s my girl,” he says.

* * *

“I’m going to vomit.” She’s awake at the crack of dawn, sunglasses propped carefully on her nose bridge. Her head is bursting from the sweetness of the wine she’d downed straight from the bottle after her phone call with Peter. “All over your dashboard.” 

“Please don’t,” Harry rubs his eyes as he exits the highway, heading straight toward the domestic flights terminal of the airport. “I could turn away from the airport right now, we can book you a later flight and–”

“We’re running out of time, Harry,” she states. “I’ve got four days to let Peter know he’s making the biggest mistake of his life. That’s 96 hours.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, braking softly at the red light. He’s awfully calm. 

“Harry, he’s been in love with me for nine years.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Am _I_ making a big mistake?”

“If I tell you my opinion, would you change your mind about whatever you’re trying to do?”

She won’t. “If I don’t do something about it,” Michelle cracks her knuckles, focusing on the slenderness of her own fingers, “I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe you’ll learn something.”

“At my wedding, I’ll be a bride with a best man and I’ll be looking at him when I say I do.”

Harry pulls up to the curb, popping the trunk of his car. “Good luck, Jones.” 

“I’m going to call you every hour on the hour,” Michelle squeezes Harry’s hand before rushing out of the passenger side of the car, nearly tripping over the curb as she pulls her suitcase to the entrance of the airport. 

* * *

The flight is smooth, but Michelle still manages to get an outrageous headache, her hangover still looming over her head as well as the dread of meeting the girl of Peter Parker’s dreams in T-minus five minutes. 

Along with her suitcase, she strolls out of the airplane and into the Chicago airport with hoards of people walking in various directions. She’d never been a fan of public transportation and spaces, her claustrophobia acting up as she wades through the crowd of strangers.

Suddenly, the hoards of people part as if on cue the moment she spots Peter’s bed hair mop of a head and a grin bigger than she’s seen. Michelle drops her bags, running toward him as he does the same, picking her up in his big arms (they’re a lot bigger than she recalls) and spinning her in circles. 

Their foreheads touch for a moment after they part, Peter’s thumb caressing Michelle’s cheekbone. He pulls away. “MJ.” 

“Peter,” she traces her fingers where his fingers had been seconds ago. His touch is electric, leaving traces of himself on her cheek.

“Can you believe this is happening? I’m getting married!” Peter flails his arms in the air. 

“You’ve always been destined for romance,” she comments as they make their way back to her dropped luggage, now embarrassed that she’s caused a ridiculous scene in the airport like a clichéd comedy. 

“You think so?” he chuckles, crouching down to hold her bags. Michelle dusts off her clothes, pulling out the ruffles of her travel t-shirt. As soon as she turns around, she sees her. 

Short, blonde, and gleaming. She waves confidently before making her way through the crowd that’s dispersed among each other, approaching Michelle in open arms. She hugs her, but Michelle doesn’t hug back, towering over her like the Giving Tree. 

“This is wonderful,” the girl says. She’s younger – like Grad School Young. Michelle can almost feel the pain in her own lower back when she notices Peter’s fiancé’s perfect posture. “Ever since meeting Peter, all I hear is MJ this, ‘Chelle that.” 

It’s only then Michelle realizes that Peter had never even mentioned her name. The girl tucks herself under Peter’s arms, her ring-dressed hand gripping his waist. 

“He’s always talking shit, that Peter Parker,” she jokes.

“And now I get to meet you,” her eyes are honest and excited, Michelle almost feeling bad at her initial plans to convince Peter to run away from commitment at all costs. “I’ve never had a best girlfriend.” 

Michelle’s eyes flick to Peter, who's nervously biting his lip.

“Well, there’s a first for everything,” Michelle pulls a tight grin. The fiancé hugs her again, Michelle feeling her lungs tighten.

* * *

Peter’s fiancé offers to load Michelle’s luggage in the back of her BMW. Even the outside of it smells like a new car. 

“Idiot,” she shoves Peter’s shoulder.

“What was that for?” he whines.

“You didn’t tell me her name.” 

“Right! It’s Gwen. Gwen Stacy,” he whispers. “I was so nervous, I forgot.” 

“How on brand of you,” she rolls her eyes, crawling into the backseat.

“I’d love for you to sit next to me, MJ.” She cringes at the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling her familiar nickname – a nickname she reserves for her _friends_ only. She lets it go.

Gwen’s a terrible driver. Michelle’s gripping the edge of the passenger seat as they speed through the highway. She and Peter are perfect for each other, probably. 

Peter can’t drive for shit, either. 

“I have a favor to ask you,” Gwen starts. 

“You have to wait about 5 more minutes before you can ask me a favor,” Michelle quips. 

“Peter said you’d say something like that.” 

Michelle glances back to Peter, whose eyes are wide and nervous – much more so than when they’d initially met at the airport. 

“What is it? You need money?” she jokes again, unable to stop the stream of word vomit spilling out of her mouth. 

“Another good one,” Gwen observes. 

“Let me see… you want a threesome?” Michelle deadpans.

“That wouldn’t be a favor,” she winks. Dammit, she’s funny. “Anyway,” Gwen yells over the gusts flowing through her car with the windows rolled down. “My old college roommate, Lola, can’t make it anymore. She’s having surgery.” 

“That’s unfortunate timing.” Michelle wishes she had surgery at this point.

Gwen takes a deep breath. “Be my maid of honor.” 

Michelle’s throat feels dry. She looks over at Peter again, his grin turned into a pleading pout. That damn pout.

“And the other bridesmaids can’t do this because…” 

“Betty and Cindy are my old family friends. If I had to pick one, the other will drop out. It’s best to be impartial.” 

“Come on, ‘Chelle,” Peter adds. “You’re practically my unofficial best man, anyway.” 

Michelle’s heart softens. “I…” 

“Plus,” Gwen continues to chatter, “I know a lot about you already. Peter’s said enough. And this will get you to learn more about me. Like a lightning round, whole shebang thing. Those are always fun!” 

She doesn’t turn her head back this time, only glaring at Peter through the rearview mirror. His eyes still look like they’re begging. 

Anything for Peter. Michelle takes a deep breath. “Anything for you, Gwen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos/comments appreciated!
> 
> Twitter: @spideysmjs / Tumblr: @briens


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Well things are different now,” Michelle cuts the conversation, Peter’s face falling. He smiles fondly at her, nodding before he walks away, closing the door._

Immediately after checking into the hotel, Michelle is whisked away to perform Maid of Honor duties. She finds herself standing in front of a mirror with a tailor measuring her body. 

She doesn’t even like weddings. She’s not a fan of the tradition. Being married into a patriarch, having to pay for the entire thing, being in the presence of hundreds of people. God, the anxiety from it all. 

Yet, Michelle’s doing this all for Peter. And she’s not even his bride. Maybe she’ll take up the offer of the complimentary champagne the next time the owners of the shop ask. Nursing a hangover with more alcohol sounds appropriate in this given context. 

“You don’t like it,” Gwen says, assuming. 

“No, it’s fine,” Michelle looks at herself in the lavender-colored, tulle-decorated gown. “This is what everyone’s wearing, yes?” 

“Yours is special,” she explains. Michelle tilts her head. “I figure you’d wanna make a statement.” 

That damn Peter telling Gwen everything about Michelle like she’s an open book. “What did Peter tell you about me?”

Gwen is hesitant, shy. “That you hate weddings. You’re not a big fan of being given away from one man to another. It comes from your disdain for the patriarchy. And the fact that you don’t talk about...” 

“ _Love_ isnot really my thing,” she shrugs in hopes that Gwen won’t catch her voice falter at the mention of love because for Michelle, it was never a contempt for love, but fear. “Peter loves it, though. Basks in it. That’s why we couldn’t–” 

“I know. He told me that, too.” Michelle bites her lip. Perhaps, Peter doesn’t know when to shut his pipe. “I thought I was the same as you, you know.” 

Michelle doubts it because even she isn’t _really_ the way she’s describing herself, but lets Gwen keep going. 

“I think marriage is ridiculous. My mom left my father,” she shifts uncomfortably, champagne glass tucked in between her index and middle finger, “which kind of made me a jaded kid growing up. I always wanted to focus on my career headfirst. But then I met Peter…” 

Peter is a stand up guy. Gwen’s not wrong. But to toss her career to the side… 

Michelle could never do that.

“I don’t know,” Gwen blushes. “I sound stupid, I know. I’d make fun of me if I were you. But he’s just… he’s different, you know?”

Michelle knows very well. 

“Makes you want to run away with him forever,” she finishes Gwen’s explanation. “I get it.”

“I know you would.” 

“Champagne doesn’t sound too bad now,” Michelle backs up into the tray of drinks, spilling the sparkling liquid on the seam of her satin dress. “Fuck.”

Gwen’s horrified in the way that her body tenses, but her face stays relaxed. “It’s okay. We’ll just take that off you and I’ll hand it to the tailor.” 

Michelle nods. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she shuffles around, looking for a bag as Michelle unzips herself out of the cloth, handing it over to her. Gwen shoves it into a canvas bag and walks out of the dressing room, letting the door close behind her.

  
  
  


She leaves Harry a slightly embarrassing voicemail, something about how he’s abandoning her in an incredibly important time of need – a few curses tossed in between each word of the sentence, her vocals ranging from yelling to hushed tones when she realizes the walls in the dressing room may not be soundproof. 

There’s a knock on the door, Michelle getting up and grabbing her clothes she hasn’t changed back into. “Come in, Gwen.”

Except it’s Peter, with his flannel sleeves nearly covering his fingers and his nerdy space shirt underneath. Michelle turns around immediately, her body exposed and only covered by the fabric of the clothes she was too lazy to put on. 

“Should I turn around?” he chuckled, a casual thing. 

“I’m in my underwear, so I believe you probably should. Unless you’d like a show,” Michelle teases, though she knows she shouldn’t be.

“I’ve seen you all before anyway,” he returns. He’s gotten good at that, making her more nervous than he ever seemed when she’d tease him in the same way before. They’d been so casual with each other about their nudity before – walking around each other’s apartments in their underwear, convincing each other to skinny dip at their snobby, rich friend’s pool in the Hamptons, those nights during their one month dating trial… 

“Well things are different now,” Michelle cuts the conversation, Peter’s face falling. He smiles fondly at her, nodding before he walks away, closing the door.

* * *

“Anything else planned today?” Michelle carries the shopping bags into the elevator, wondering how they walked into the store with one purchase in mind and walked out with several additions to whatever Gwen wants. It must be nice having money. 

“I have lunch with my mom,” she groans uncomfortably. “And Dad is taking Peter around campus to show him labs and some research stuff. You should go with him after we drop these off to the bridesmaids. Oh, and Ned will be here tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Nedward,” Michelle’s heart softens, nearly forgetting about the existence of their third companion. It’s been years with Ned. “Probably took my space for the Best Man position.”

“Well, Dad likes things… traditional.” Michelle holds her tongue, pressing the penthouse button to get out of this talk about… _tradition_. “He’s even furious that we’re not having a typical honeymoon.”

It’s Peter’s job – Michelle knows that from the getgo, but she lies. “Well, that sucks. You’d think Peter would want to do something disgustingly romantic.” 

“He actually insisted on calling off,” Gwen falters for a beat, “but I said it’s okay. I’d rather just be with the man I love. I’ve been everywhere already.” 

“Well, he’s lucky someone can handle him and all of his–”

“Yeah,” Gwen cuts her off. “I mean, Peter has lots of habits.”

“Have you heard is sno–”

“Snoring? It’s bad, and when he spoons me, it’s like he’s growling right into my ear,” she giggles. 

Peter as a big spoon? That’s something Michelle would kill to see. “Don’t get me started on his che–”

“Chewing. I’ve told him to slow down on eating. It’s a bad habit to see him scarf down food. Don’t want him to choke.” 

Bells ding, the elevator opening for a family that recently visited the pool – their clothes dripping in chlorine. Gwen starts again. 

“He wears battered up Converse and his clever, but very tacky science shirts. He always has knots in his neck, his hair’s always messy, and his lips are chapped more often than not.” 

“It’s very windy in Chicago,” Michelle returns.

“But he’s a great kisser,” Gwen’s posture softens, less tense when she thinks about Peter. Michelle finds herself nodding, then shrugging. “And, well, I decided calculating the cons of someone’s entire being isn’t the best measurement of how much I love him. I’m not Ross Geller.” 

The family leaves after two floors. 

Gwen hits the emergency button. “I love Peter – all of him. Even if he loves karaoke bars and I can’t hold a tune for my life.” 

She sure does love saying she loves Peter. “Great. Can we, uh, get moving? I’m a little claustrophobic…” 

“There’s only one thing I thought I could never get past. It’s the biggest challenge in being with someone like Peter Parker.” 

“Is it getting harder to breathe in here? Or is it just me?” Michelle paces back in forth in the small, confined space. 

“It’s you.”

“Oh, sure, I really thought it was and–” 

Gwen leans against the wall of the elevator. Silence. Beads of sweat drip from the edges of Michelle’s face, her curls falling in front of her eyes. “He loves you, you know.” 

Michelle knows. “He’s my best friend.”

“I was afraid of meeting you. He talks about you a lot. And I’m competitive,” Gwen nods fervently. “I’ve always been picked first in teams. So you could imagine the stress running through my head knowing that he has this girl that he’ll never not talk about.” 

Gwen’s own bluntness frightens Michelle, and Michelle is never moved. “I wouldn’t be too worried about…”

“You win, MJ.” 

“What?”

“Nine years. You guys have been best friends for so long. You’re up there on a pedestal for him,” Gwen hits the button, the elevator starting up again, “but I’ll be in his arms.” 

Michelle understands where Gwen is coming from, completely. She’s not dense. And still, she wants to run to Peter and tell him to break it off. Better than her own heart breaking knowing that Peter has someone else in his arms. Someone that’s small enough to be his little spoon. Someone that isn’t Michelle. 

The elevator doors slide open, and Michelle – nearly forgetting about her fear of tight spaces – stumbles out, falling right on the ground. Another blonde woman flashes a big smile. 

“You must be Peter’s MJ,” she lends Michelle a hand, pulling her up. “I’m Betty. Bridesmaid #1. I should be Maid of Honor, but you know, Cindy would get a bit butthurt.” 

“I’m right here, Betty,” she rolls her eyes playfully, scanning Michelle up and down. “Peter really didn’t do you justice.” 

“Is that the woman of the hour?” another voice, an older one, calls out from the penthouse kitchen. It’s a lady that resembles Gwen to the tea, with her sweater vests and headband as well as her green eyes and blond hair. It’s her mother. “MJ, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” Ex-Mrs. Stacy cups Michelle’s face, analyzing her cheekbones. Gwen’s arms are crossed as Michelle glances over to her through her peripherals. 

“Gorgeous. No wonder why Peter stammers about you,” her hands move to Michelle’s shoulders, rubbing them lightly. “You have a university campus tour.” 

“Right.” 

“Get changed, and go ahead. We’ll deal with the frilly, girly things perfectly fine. You can spend more time with Peter.” 

* * *

Mr. Stacy offers a private tour of the bio-engineering labs and introduces Peter to professors who are conducting stem cell research. Michelle follows them, pretending to laugh at jokes that old white men think are funny and catching concerned glances from Peter whenever a joke is told. Stacy excuses himself and the professor to discuss plans about grant requesting which is incredibly hilarious considering Stacy brings in enough money that he can fund the professor’s research without making a dent.

Peter and Michelle stay in the lab classroom, beakers stacked against the wall and papers neatly propped on each station. 

“Pretty cool, huh?” Peter smiles, fingers brushing against the counters as he walks through the lab. 

She watches him in his element. “Looks like they’re thinking of offering you a position here.” 

“I could never do that to Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “He’s done a lot for me after graduating. And you know how I feel about working in a university. They don’t treat workers well at all.” 

“Says someone who works for a literal billionaire,” Michelle rolls his eyes. 

“That’s not fair. You know how much Tony donates to different causes,” he pouts. “You’ve never liked him anyway.” 

“He’s alright,” she defends herself, arms waving. While it’s true Michelle isn’t a big _fan_ of Peter’s mentor knowing how much money he has in his back pocket, she went with Peter to every Stark Industries event during his undergraduate internship and before Stark Industries offered him a position that makes Peter travel constantly – a position that made Peter leave Michelle alone in New York. 

She thinks it’s a little fair for her to be upset. 

“Gwen says the same thing,” he sighs. “But I’ve told her everything, you know. How Tony reached out after Ben died during our second year…” His eyes water at the mention of his uncle. “So she understands.”

“And she’s dropping her entire future for your job,” she snorts.

“What?” Peter panics. 

“She told me she used to be career-driven, but then she met you,” Michelle states. 

“No,” Peter’s face scrunches, “no. That’s not right. She never told me that.” 

“That’s just what she said to me.” 

“I can’t let her do that. I’d feel awful for the rest of my life,” he takes a seat on a lab stool. “Why would she think I’d make her do that?” 

Tradition, Michelle guesses. But to Peter, she stays silent seeing the way his mood changed at the immediate mention of Gwen abandoning herself to be with him. He’s always been supportive of independence, and so has Michelle. 

That’s why she didn’t tell him to stay when Peter had asked her about Stark Industries years ago.

  
  
  


Michelle slapped the third sugar packet out of Peter’s hand at their favorite coffee shop. “I don’t know how you could possibly ruin a perfectly good brew of coffee with sugar.” 

“Black coffee isn’t the same,” he said as he picked up the packet again and poured it into his cup. “Sorry, Ms. Food Connoisseur.” 

“Whatever,” she relented. “So why did you want to have an emergency lunch?” 

“It’s big, Chelle,” he sighed. “It’s about work.” 

“What’s Mr. Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist doing to you?” 

“He wants me to do research in different cities. Travel and meet with other companies,” he traces the rim of the mug with his thumb. “Starting with Boston, which isn’t far… but I’ll be gone from New York for almost two years.” 

Her body tensed and her stomach filled up with knots as it fought the caffeine growing in her system. “You… leave New York?” 

Him leaving _Michelle_. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “What do you think?” 

She wanted to tell him no. She so badly wanted to tell him to look for another job, to stay in the city because she loves him. “I think you should go for it.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s a wonderful opportunity. See the world,” she tugs her lips. 

“Okay,” he looks down, then up into her eyes. “Thanks, Chelle.” 

  
  
  


Michelle still remembers seeing him off at the train station, his suitcases piled next to him as he waved goodbye from the window. She never said anything. 

  
  
  


“I have to talk to her,” he runs his hands through his hair. 

“You really love her,” she says. Peter’s eyes brighten. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “She’s great. She doesn’t deny it, you know? She holds my hands in public and she tells me everything that’s on her mind.” 

It’s like a knife found its way to Michelle – Michelle, who’s afraid of confrontation, afraid to put herself on a silver platter for the world to see. Her chest stings knowing that there’s someone else that can commit to the person that used to look at Michelle like she was the world, that can commit like she couldn’t.

“Love is nice, isn’t it?” Michelle asks. 

Peter stops flitting papers around and examining the room, body directly in front of Michelle with his eyes open and honest. “It really is.” 

* * *

Michelle introduces an idea that Peter takes zero time to agree to, but as for Gwen, she’s a tad reluctant. They shuffle through a crowd of folks lined up in different bars downtown, squeezing into a packed building with purple and blue lights that create a casual ambiance for a collection of groups huddled over small tables. 

There’s someone belting Dancing Queen by ABBA and their voice blasts through the speakers as everyone else in the bar cheers them on. The voice isn’t half bad. Gwen grips on the sides of her wool cardigan as she follows Michelle to an empty table. 

“Chelle, I haven’t gone to one of these in years!” he exclaims, ruffling the top of her head as they scoot into their seats. He quickly orders a pitcher of beer and throws his arms around both Michelle and Gwen. “I could be the happiest person right now with my girlfriend and my best friend.” 

Gwen tucks her head onto Peter’s shoulder. Michelle forces a grin. The waitress returns with the pitcher, Michelle ready to down the entire thing. “So did you two discuss the job thing?” 

“What?” Gwen asks, voice attempting to overpower the noise level at the bar – her straight posture and pearl earrings stand out in the midst of it all. 

“No, not yet,” Peter side eyes Michelle, turning back to Gwen. “I just wanted to make sure you know I support you staying in school. And that you shouldn’t let me hold you back.” 

She beams. “It’s okay, Peter. I’d rather spend my time with you.” 

From the way Peter smiles before speaking, Michelle can tell he’s more than touched by her gesture. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here for you whatever decision you make. Because it’s the smartest decision for yourself.”

“I know that,” Gwen laughs, “but my school does online classes, and I can always find jobs in the area we stay at for your research. I _do_ have a double major in chemistry and physics. But thank you for letting me know.” 

They’re truly made for each other. Michelle’s forgotten why she’s come. 

To the karaoke bar, to this wedding weekend, to Chicago. Her brain is fuzzy, that same feeling in the back of her throat is crawling up again, almost throwing up until the M.C. approaches Gwen and offers the microphone. “I bet your voice is as nice at your outfit.” 

Gwen blushes. “No, I couldn’t.” 

“We can play some Taylor Swift for you,” the M.C. insists, snapping her fingers and cueing up “You Belong with Me.” 

Gwen panics, eyes frantically switching back and forth from Michelle and Peter. Michelle claps for her, and Peter grins. “Go for it, Gwen.” 

She takes a deep breath, speaking the lyrics to the song before slowly finding a rhythm, except she’s close to tone death, and Michelle starts to feel guilty for encouraging her to sing. Initially, the crowd is near silent, only the tune of Swift’s song playing and Gwen’s off-beat singing reverberating through the speakers. 

_“Why can’t you see, you belong with me,”_ she belts out. Michelle watches Gwen’s timidness slowly disappear when a couple of drunk guys at the bar start cheering her on. The M.C. starts clapping, and the rest of the crowd follows her. Peter scans the room, and beams at Gwen, laughing at her voice with his eyes glued to her smile. 

And Michelle can tell that look from anywhere, remembering the same look pointed to her when they first experienced a karaoke bar together during college. The rain was pouring and they had run through Cambridge looking for a dry sanctuary, only finding a bar. They had dared each other to sing, egging each other on with shots of tequila. That night, Michelle and Peter ended up dancing on the countertops, singing along to Fergie. 

Tonight, Michelle watches Peter watch Gwen as if her shrill voice is of the angels. 

The song ends, Peter shaking Gwen’s shoulders and clapping. “That was absolutely terrible.” 

“I know,” Gwen laughs, snorting and clinking pint glasses with Peter.

“I loved all of it,” he laughs. 

  
  
  


Gwen’s mother picks her up for a late night mask session at the penthouse, cutting her night short and leaving Peter and Michelle alone. They walk through the silence of the streets, the low hum of the windy city sounding like silence compared to their hometown of New York. 

She could say she loves him right now, take the advice that Harry’s been convincing her through a multitude of text messages. But something within her doesn’t want to say anything knowing that she has the chance to hurt Peter again. 

Michelle picks Peter’s heart over hers, not wanting to say anything though she can feel her heart shattering with every minute she spends next to him and Gwen. 

Their walk is quiet, Peter shoving his hands in his coat and Michelle doing the same. 

“So what do you think?” he asks Michelle nervously. “How was the first day?” 

Michelle shrugs, squinting and puckering her lips for extra thought. “She has a terrible voice.” 

He laughs. “Yeah. Not everyone sounds like an angel like you, Chelle.” 

“You’re pretty bad, too,” she quips. 

“I know." 

Michelle can’t lie. She can find nothing wrong with Gwen Stacy. She’s intelligent, she talks sense into Peter, and she took her chances when she could. “She’s wonderful, Peter.”

“Really?” Peter’s voice shakes like he’s been waiting for Michelle’s approval, his tone teetering on the edge of something deeper. “I’m scared still.” 

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think…” Peter mumbles. “Never mind.” 

“Say it with your chest, loser,” Michelle tries. 

“I just… I just really didn’t think I’d be marrying someone else…” Peter trails off, but his voice is honest and raw which makes Michelle’s brain go even more fuzzy and she doesn’t ask him to expand because she knows what he means and she doesn’t want to hear anymore.

“Life has a funny way of throwing unsuspecting things at you,” Michelle says.

“You’re always the coolest with words.”

“I _am_ a writer, Pete.” 

“The best one,” he fumbles with his fingers. There’s something behind his eyes as he looks out at the skyline. This could be the moment Michelle can take her chance.

But she doesn’t. 

And instead, she locks herself into her hotel room as soon as they return, drowning herself in overpriced liquor from the mini fridge and sending Harry countless voicemails.

_“Harry, it’s a goddamn emergency. I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too damn much. I need you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos/comments appreciated!
> 
> Twitter: @spideysmjs / Tumblr: @briens


	3. Chapter 3

Her head is buzzing. Her arms ache. Her eyes are nearly blinded by the sun seeping through the poorly tinted curtains of the shitty hotel room she had booked last minute because of Peter – refusing the hotel that Gwen had offered her, wanting to be blocks away from the madness of wedding planning that she shouldn’t have been involved with in the first place. 

When her phone buzzes, she tries to search for it in the confines of her tangled sheets.

“Hello?” she croaks. The TV is still on low volume of old cartoons. 

“Jesus. I hope you look better than you sound,” Harry answers. “I’ve been knocking on your hotel door for ages.” 

“Shit,” she says, sitting up with a moment too quick that she gets a head rush, spots appearing in her vision as she finds her hotel slippers and makes her way to the door. “Fuck.”

She grabs her robes and runs her fingers through her tangled curls, Michelle always being a victim of bedhead. When she swings the door open, Harry smiles – wearing sunglasses with a tint that matches his tie and slacks that are fit just right. 

“You look like an asshole wearing sunglasses inside,” she greets him, arms opening to hug him. He jokingly contemplates whether or not to hug her disheveled appearance, earning a punch on the shoulder and snorts at her statement. “Come in.” 

“Death by a mini bar,” Harry makes a comment at the empty mini bottles of liquor dressed on the carpet, a few shots still in each of them. “I’m guessing you’re not taking this very well.” 

“I’m not,” she says. “And you’re here. Thank God. I thought you hated planes.” 

“I do. And I have to fly back  _ tonight  _ because I have a meeting with  _ our  _ bosses about the new website we’ve been working on for New York City restaurants. You remember that? Our  _ jobs _ ?” 

“This is a wedding, Harry, I wouldn’t take the days off if I didn’t have to,” she fights back. “And it’s Peter Parker.” 

“Right, the love of your life,” he chuckles more, stooping down to the ground and picking up the bottles to place in the trash bin. 

“Don’t remind me.”

“And how’s the lady?” 

Michelle watches Harry clean up after her mess. She sighs. “She’s wonderful, Harry. She’s what perfect would look like in Peter’s dictionary.” 

“And how are  _ you _ ?” 

“I’m devastated, Harry!” she throws her hands up. “I can’t explain this feeling in my gut. My skin gets hot if I’m in the same room as the two of them for too long because I can’t stop looking at Peter, which I’m pretty sure Gwen can tell.” 

“That’s a cute name.” 

“You’re missing the point, Harry.” Michelle sits back on the unmade bed. “I don’t know what to do. This is my life’s happiness.” 

“And she’s Peter’s,” he answers. Michelle winces. 

“He’s been in love with me for nine years, Harry.”

He sighs. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.” 

“You can’t just fall out of love with someone!” Michelle’s frustrations grow louder. “And wouldn’t it be just incredibly awful if Gwen marries this doofus and he’s still in love with me?” 

Harry follows suit, sitting on the bed next to her. “First of all,” he puts a hand on her shoulder. “That feeling you can’t name? It’s jealousy. You are jealous, Jones.” 

“I never get jealous.”

“There’s a first for everything.” 

Michelle lays down on the bed, a deep sigh coming out – her life feeling like an endless amount of deep sighs lately. 

Harry lays next to her, looking at her. “Michelle, do you really love Peter? Or is this just about the past? Seriously.” 

Another breath. “In the beginning when I heard the news,” she starts, scratching her head as if it’d give her the answers to the question Harry’s asking, “I was devastated because I always thought I’d have him. That he’d come back to me.” 

“And now he’s not.” 

“Now he’s not,” she closes her eyes, moving her view away from Harry before opening them again to the ceiling. There’s chipped paint marks scattered around the rusty chandelier. “But seeing him again… spending time with him after all of those years apart from each other…” she sniffles, shaking her head and smiling at the thought of him. “When I’m with him, I’m someone else. And I can’t believe I didn’t know that before when he was around.” 

“Maybe you did know,” Harry attempts a smile. “But you just thought he’d be around for longer.” 

“I guess.” 

“It’s amazing how much clarity comes in when you realize you’re too late.” 

She chuckles, fighting back tears. “Harry, trust me. If Peter was feeling what I’m feeling, then he’d know how I feel. This is terrible.” 

Harry wipes a tear off her cheek, clicking his tongue. 

“What?” she asks.

“You should tell him that you love him.”

Michelle turns, eyebrows furrowed. “What? Are you crazy?” 

“Not really,” Harry sits back up. “Think about it. It’s always nice hearing how people feel, isn’t it?” 

Michelle wills her energy to sit up, facing him. “Feelings are terrifying!” 

“From what you’ve told me about Peter, it seems like he feels the exact opposite about that sentiment.” Harry puts his hands on top of Michelle’s after removing his asshole sunglasses and looks her right in the eyes. “Tell him… tell him you’ve loved him for years. But you’re afraid of love. Afraid of needing.”

She scoffs. “Needing what?” 

“Needing someone,” he softens his stare at her, Michelle feeling shameful that someone actually feels  _ this  _ bad for her and at the same time, thankful that Harry’s been supportive throughout this entire wedding that’s thrown her out of character. “We’re all afraid of that, Michelle. That’s how humans are.” 

She leans her head on Harry’s shoulder, tears seeping through his button up shirt. He picks at the tangles of her hair. “Tell him that this is probably the worst, cruelest, dumbest time to do this. But there it is. The truth.” 

Michelle bites the inside of her cheek, doing her best to stifle the last few tears welling in the corner of her eyes. “The truth it is.” 

* * *

She drags Harry to Peter’s tux fitting for emotional support. He’s reluctant, but Michelle claims that he’s already come this far in helping her be a giant dumbass, so what’s the point of another few hours? 

They show up to the store that Peter had mentioned to meet her in, Harry holding Michelle’s hand for comfort, squeezing it for the support and strength she needed to face the rejection she’s already expecting – a part of her wanting Peter to turn around from all of this and fall into her arms like some romantic comedy. 

But with this confession comes hurt for people outside of her and Peter, and it doesn’t stop her from the guilt that would follow if Peter actually did feel the same way. For as much as she wants everything to pan out the way she wanted, Michelle knows in her own heart that a wonderful person like Gwen Stacy doesn’t deserve to be hurt. 

Michelle braces herself before stepping into the tuxedo store, watching Peter look at himself in the mirror with his fidgety leg and restless hands shaking at his side. She hadn’t seen him this nervous since Tony and Pepper’s wedding when he was assigned to give a speech at the reception years ago.

  
  
  


She was plopped on the armchair in the assigned dressing room for groomsmen, avoiding the other groomsmen running around and sharing shots before stepping out for the ceremony. Tony’s best man James did his best to keep a watch on the rest of the groomsmen running around while also keeping an eye on Tony, who kept opening his laptop to work as a distraction from nerves. 

Peter stood in front of the full body mirror, readjusting his cufflinks and collar as if he had a role in walking down the aisle as well. 

“Why are you so nervous?” Michelle asked from behind the mirror, startling him out of his own head. 

“I don’t know,” Peter rubs the back of his neck. “‘Chelle, it’s a wedding. Weddings are  _ huge _ .” 

“ _ Tony’s  _ wedding is huge. There’s, like, more than hundreds here,” she said. “And even more for the reception. Which you’re supposed to talk at.” 

“Not helping my nerves, ‘Chelle,” Peter turns from the mirror and faces her. His hair was trimmed at a perfect length, not too long where his curls would be hard to maintain and not too short where there wasn’t enough to style. His tux fit him perfectly, accentuating his swimmer body build that sometimes appears in Michelle’s head too much. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re not afraid of public speaking,” she quipped. He shook his head at her, giggling before he sat on the arm of the chair she’d tucked herself into. 

“Weddings are beautiful,” Peter said. “And theirs is outside. That’d be nice.” 

“Well, I hope your future wife doesn’t have bad allergies,” Michelle rests her head on Peter’s thigh. He brings his hand to the top of her hair. It had been tied into a tight bun, but he never failed to fiddle with the curls that let loose on the edge of her forehead. 

“You don’t have bad allergies, ‘Chelle, so I think we’re good.” 

She rolled her eyes. “That’s only if we don’t find anyone by 28, Parker.”

“Which will come sooner than you think,” he added. 

“You’ll be married by then, Pete,” Michelle looked up at him, relaxed at the way his fingers were massaging her scalp. “And I’ll be in my Best Man outfit cheering you on.” 

“Or you can be in your wedding dress,” he teased. It made her heart skip a beat knowing Peter thought about the future in a way that meant they’d be together, but committing to a promise like the one they had drunkenly sworn to scared her. She didn’t want to mess what they had already, knowing she was good enough to be Peter’s friend but could never be good enough to be anything more for him. 

“Funny of you to think I’d wear a dress,” was all the left Michelle’s mouth before they were called out to the ceremony.

  
  
  


And now there Michelle stands at the lobby of the store, watching Peter being fitted for his wedding before they turn 28, all of Michelle’s predictions becoming correct and at the same time, Michelle wishing just once in her life she would be wrong. 

Harry slips his hand from hers and nudges her towards Peter, who had stolen a few glances back and forth from the mirror to where she was watching. He waves awkwardly before speaking to the gentleman measuring his waistline. 

When the tailor walks away, Michelle heads towards Peter. 

His arms swallow her in a long and warm hug, Michelle never wanting to let go of this moment wishing time around the two of them would stop so that she could craft a more meaningful way to confess her resurfaced love for him.

“Good morning,” Peter greets her as he lets go. 

“Peter I need to talk to you,” she cuts to the chase. He knits his eyebrows. 

“You don’t like the suit?” he pouts. She looks at him up and down.

“Actually no. But that’s not it. Peter–” 

“Hold on, before I forget,” he interrupts her as he walks towards the coat rack and digs through the pocket of his jacket. “Because I am me and probably will forget…”

He hands her a velvet box, folding it into the palm of her hand. 

“Guard this with your life, ‘Chelle.”

“What is it?” she blabbers, feeling ridiculous for asking knowing what the answer is. 

“The ring,” he laughs. “I don’t trust Ned with it.” 

“I don’t know, Pete…” 

“You’re the real best man anyway,” he whispers. “Ned’s around to plan for the ‘bachelor’ party,” Peter throws air quotes in the air.

A beat. Peter looks into her eyes as he says, “Open it.” 

With her shaking fingers she pops the case open, slowly revealing a metal band. She looks up again and Peter smiles. She gasps in adoration.

“She’ll like it right?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Michelle breathes. Peter turns around, distancing the space between them. 

“What was it you had to tell me?” 

“What?” 

“You mentioned it before I let my forgetful brain interrupt,” he laughs, putting his hands in the pocket of the borrowed slacks. 

“Right,” she steps closer, looking at him directly as the tailor returns and takes more measurements. “Peter.”

“Michelle,” he deepens his voice in a lighthearted tone. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time now. And we’ve gotten close. Like closer than you could imagine, you know?”

He smiles. “I think so, yeah.” 

“Sometimes,” she starts before her focus snaps to the tailor. The tailor stops, sensing the tone of the room through Michelle’s daggers. “Sometimes people think they know how they feel about each other… but they don’t.” 

Peter tilts his head. 

“Until they do,” Michelle’s breath shakes. “God, this is hard.” 

“What’s up Em? I’m sure this isn’t a big deal,” he places a hand on her shoulder. “You can tell me.” She immediately turns her head, searching for Harry for moral support and seeing him wave over. Peter follows her gaze. “Who is he? “

“Him?” Michelle stutters. “My editor. You remember right?” 

“What’s he doing here?” Peter asks. 

“Because.. Because he’s my good friend,” she answers. A few seconds of silence pass by. “My best friend these days.” 

“Oh,” Peter breathes. “Are you trying to tell me more about you and Harry?” 

She keeps a straight face, contemplating whether or not she’d regret what she was about to say, Michelle truly not understanding the consequences of how ridiculous her actions have been in the past few days. Peter clouds her judgment, him being the only thing running through her mind in the last 60 hours. Michelle knew how angry Harry would be – she knew that what she was doing was wrong, but for some reason, she did it anyway. 

“It is,” she answers. 

“Oh,” Peter chirps, his voice octaves higher than before. His shoulders are more relaxed and the pink tint that was slowly covering his cheeks went back to his standard peachy skin. He skips to Harry with a big grin, Harry mimicking the grin. 

Peter puts his hand out. “I didn’t know you and Michelle were together.” 

“Wha–” Harry starts before catching Michelle’s death glare. “Right. She never talks about me, I know.” 

Peter laughs and lets go of the shake. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You’ve met,” Michelle says. “Anyway, Harry just came to stop by before flying back to New York tonight. He misses me a lot. What a sap, am I right?” 

“Right,” Harry agrees. “It hurts my heart to be away from Michelle Jones for more than three days.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Well, let’s get out of here. I don’t want to waste your few hours together with my wedding schedule.” 

He waves to the tailor first before gesturing for Michelle and Harry to follow. He walks faster than them, not once looking back. Harry nudges Michelle, confused and stressed. 

“What?” Michelle whispers.

“You’re ridiculous, Michelle,” he seethes through his teeth. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” 

“I’m sorry, I panicked,” Michelle returns, eyes worried. He rolls his eyes in a way that lets Michelle know this has been her lowest point in life.

She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

Gwen nearly jumps into Harry’s arms, Harry having to place one leg back to balance himself. “It’s so nice to meet you!” 

“Same to you,” Harry starts. “Heard a lot about you.” 

Michelle wants to slam her head against the wall. This is the worst thing she’s ever done knowing Harry would take his revenge and for good reason. 

“I’m so sad you can’t stay for the rest of the weekend,” Gwen frowns – her energy extra spiked since finding out about Michelle’s fake boyfriend. 

“Just wanted to support Michelle, you know?” Harry exaggerates his cupid-struck voice. 

“So sweet,” Gwen pouts. “Well you  _ must  _ have brunch with us before going.” 

“I would love that!” Harry puts his arms at his sides, a power pose striking in a way that he knows would shame Michelle even more for doing something so incredibly reckless. 

She rubs her eyes, hoping that the act might pull her out of the nightmare she’d created for herself. 

* * *

In no less than an hour, Gwen introduced Harry to the entire family, Michelle only now realizing Peter’s aunt hadn’t been here all weekend, but after finding out May couldn’t afford weekdays off from the hospital despite Gwen’s family offering to cover the entire trip, it made sense. 

Betty and Cindy keep coming up with questions to bombard Harry and Gwen’s mother listening so intensely to all of the answers, and as Harry tries to keep up, Michelle watches Peter watch Harry with a stare that she couldn’t read. 

“So how did you meet?” 

“Harry’s my editor,” she answers. Harry laughs. 

“You’ve got to tell them  _ everything _ , Michelle,” Harry leans forward, neglecting his eggs benedict. “Well, Michelle is a wonderful food critic and writer, but she’s a secretly talented guitarist.”

“It’s not that much of a secret,” Peter adds. Gwen shushes him. 

Harry shrugs before continuing, “and on the first overtime we shared together, Michelle brought out her guitar as it helps with writer’s block. And she started singing.” 

“What’d she sing?” Cindy leans closer. Michelle glares at her plate.

“Lucky,” he explains. “Not the Britney one. But the Jason Mraz one. How does that song go again?” 

Michelle takes a deep breath, not trying to stop Harry because no matter what she does, he won’t stop belting out the lyrics to a song so telling about their circumstances. 

“ _ Lucky I’m in love with my best friend _ ,” Harry channels his karaoke voice. “ _ Lucky to have been where I have been…” _

And Harry continues to serenade the brunch crowd, Michelle shifts her attention to Peter. 

He stares right at her. 

She stares back.

He knows. 

He knows this is all fake. 

When the random outbreak of song comes to an end, Harry leaves his head on Michelle’s shoulders. Peter hasn’t stopped watching as Harry ends the musical number with, “and that’s when I knew I wanted to be the person she was singing about.” 

“What a beautiful story over breakfast,” Gwen’s chest swells, her hand hovering over her heart. 

“So, so beautiful,” Harry sighs. “Right, Michelle?”

Michelle scans the crowd, all of their eyes googly and stupid because of the bullshit Harry fed them that was nowhere believable for the people who really knew Michelle. 

She flashes the fakest smile before answering, “Very beautiful.” 

* * *

Harry puts his arms around Michelle as she walks with him to his terminal. “What a delicious brunch.” 

“I get it,” Michelle completely understands, yet her frustration with him still remains. “Thank you for doing that.” 

“You need to snap out of it, Jones. You’re not being yourself.” 

“I know,” her shoulders deflate. “I’ll tell Peter right now.” 

“Bite the bullet,” he says before walking away, but Michelle’s last call makes him turn around.

“Harry,” she waits for him. “What’s going to happen if I tell him? What will he do?"

“You know what’s going to happen,” Harry answers truthfully, and despite Michelle being an advocate for always being honest, it hurts. “You have to be supportive.” 

She sighs as he walks back to the airport, waving goodbye. 

* * *

“I’m not with Harry,” she says the second she sits down in the passenger seat when Peter picks him up. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, hands still on the wheel though they’re parked. “Yeah I could tell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t get it,” he answers. “I don’t know why, but when you told me you two were together… I just had this strange feeling in my gut that I couldn’t name. And my face was all warm, and I just… I don’t know.” 

“I get it,” Michelle says. And she truly does, knowing it was the same exact way she felt watching Peter with Gwen, but leaving that explanation out of the window. 

“You do?”

“Yes,” she repeats, her eyes soft as she looks at him, not  _ needing  _ to mention Gwen for Peter to understand what she means by that one word. He nods. 

“I’m sorry,” he looks down at the wheel before asking, “Look, there’s been a lot going on and we haven’t really spent time together… So I was thinking, maybe… did you want to spend a couple of hours just us?”

She smiles. “Yes.”

He releases a small breath, starting the car again as they pull away from the airport as he says, “Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos/comments appreciated!
> 
> Twitter: @spideysmjs / Tumblr: @briens


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